


there’s hills on my skin when you get too close

by ShatterinSeconds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Canon Compliant, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), M/M, because there are never enough fics about keith wearing lance’s jacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 06:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12102951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: “Are--are you wearing my jacket?” Lance inquires, peering into Keith’s eyes as they hide behind the shadow from the hood.Keith is startled to find those familiar blue eyes so close to his face as he slowly wakes up, mind returning to the present and away from a dream he can’t quite remember.A small yawn breaks apart his lips. Suddenly the coat is too hot and too overbearing, and his face twists into something unpleasant. “S-sorry, I didn’t--I didn’t mean to. I--”“Nah, it’s all good. I was just wondering where it went.”(or sometimes when things are left unattended, you have to take advantage of them)





	there’s hills on my skin when you get too close

**Author's Note:**

> I just had a tough week at college and really needed to write about boys finding love. Keith wearing Lance's jacket always cures my soul.
> 
> Edit 10/13--This work has now been translated into Russian (a big thanks to dreamerkx2 on tumblr): https://ficbook.net/readfic/6046737

 

Keith loves to feel--to understand--things with his hands. The smooth metallic walls of his lion, the leather grips of the controls, his perfectly weighted bayard that he loves to bounce from hand to hand. The hard material of his uniform combined with the flexible, but skin tight, fabric of the black bodysuit. It all comes alive as he runs the pads of his finger tips across every surface. It allows him to understand the world in a way his mind won’t always let him.

He doesn’t like the food goo. Not because it tastes bland on his tongue, lacking in the familiar Earth seasonings of salt and pepper, but because it’s too mushy, soggy almost. It immediately dissolves on his tongue; there’s no crunch to occupy his mouth with. He can’t help but mentally gag whenever a bowl is placed in front of him. Though it may be childish, he misses a warm grilled cheese--one of the only things he could make after he had been kicked out. The hot, gooey cheese melting onto his fingers when he picked up the sandwich too quickly, the crispness of the bread that had been toasted to perfection.

There’s not much Keith misses about Earth--having no family or friends or even a real home to come back too--but he does miss the food and the familiarity of his shack and his routines that kept him grounded. A collection of hair ties and elastic bands reside somewhere in that house, gathering dust. He misses being able to constantly fiddle with something.

His hands flop uselessly at his sides most of the time, and it annoys him.  

People always gazed at Keith with an odd, judgmental expression twisting on their faces when he would have to meticulously touch something before coming to a conclusion if he liked it or not. Or how, even if he didn’t particularly like strangers touching him, he would always wonder what their skin felt like. Was it calloused from a laborious day or was it smooth, showing signs of being tenderly cared to, often with vast amounts of moisturizer?  

In the back of his mind, he wonders if Lance would be the latter.

This had been part of the reason why he was never able to make--or keep--any friends.

_“You have to at least try,” Shiro used to say as they sat in the back of the mess hall, hidden behind the garbage chute._

_“They all look at me weird,” he mumbles, sinking lower. The material of the Garrison uniform is always too scratchy on his skin. He hates it as much as he hates the teachers, with their stuck up attitudes and no knowledge of how to handle kids like him. They all stare at him as if he’s the problem._

_They’re probably right._

_“That’s all in your head, Keith,” Shiro sighs, gliding his fork across his mash potatoes, scoring deep indentations into the food that create some semblance of a pattern. Keith’s lips quirk as he watches the repetitive movements. “What about that Lance kid? He tried to talk to you in class today. He seems nice.”_

_“He asked me for a pencil. You know how I am about my stuff. He probably thinks I’m a jerk now.” A slight blush stains his skin. He wishes he hadn’t come across as an ass though--but by the way Lance’s eyes narrowed and he huffed, turning around to find someone else, he knows that wish is in vain. That boy had been kind of cute, and he silently mourns the loss of not being able to befriend him._

_“You know, if you explained stuff to people, you’d probably have some friends.”_

_“That’s too much effort. Besides, they should like me for who I am and not my explanation of why I’m different,” Keith grumbles, reaching back to tug out his hair tie to wrap around his fingers. His long hair falls against his neck in soft waves, a cool breeze brushing across his skin. He’s so glad he didn’t have to cut his hair._

_“That’s true,” Shiro agrees._

_“And I have you. I don’t need anyone else.”_

Keith’s not sure what type of thought passes through him when he stumbles across Lance’s jacket lying abandoned on the back of the couch. It’s not an orthodox one. Biting at his fingernails and standing a few feet away from the offending object, he contemplates what he should do with it. It’s odd though, Lance is usually never seen without his signature jacket--unless he's in paladin armor--and only at night will he be wearing something different.

Keith knows the article of clothing must be the only thing that links Lance back to Earth. Maybe it was a hand-me-down from an older sibling or maybe it had been a present from his parents or a relative. Whatever the significance, Keith still wishes that he had something that important to call his own.

Sometimes he’s envious of Lance.

Without a command, his feet already drag him closer to the couch. Keith’s hands blindly jerk out, grabbing onto the surprisingly soft, worn out material. The jacket itself has some weight to it, and he wonders how Lance can stand to wear it all the time and not die from heat stroke. Overall though, it’s, as expected, much bigger than his own cropped jacket--the one he’s not wearing now--that provides little protection and is really only worn because he likes the way the faux leather crinkles and how the clash of colors look across his body.

Lance called Keith’s fashion choices an aesthetic once.

Whatever that meant.

An arm slides through the sleeve before Keith can even register what’s happening. With Lance’s taller body and broader shoulders, the jacket drapes over Keith’s frame like one of those oversized sweaters he would wear all the time in the shack. His hands are hidden from view, the tips of his fingers just brushing the cuffs of the jacket. Despite it being a few sizes too big, Keith still feels like it hugs his body, and he falls back onto the couch, content.

The inner lining of the coat is a mix of fluffy and shiny material; it makes an interestingly weird sound as he runs his finger across it. The hood, comfortably shadowing his face as he brings it over his head, bestows the same pleasure, and he laughs. The oversized coat seems to swallow his whole body and he’s loving it. In the miss of the abundance of fabric, he detects something that usually doesn’t accompany the objects he likes to hold and run his fingers all over.

A scent is attached to this article of clothing, embedded into every fiber of the fabric, unable to be removed.  

He dips his nose into the jacket’s sleeve, inhaling. At first, a wave of usual body muskiness hits him, and he crinkles his nose, though he knows all of his clothes must smell the same. Only when he breathes deeper, allowing the scent to completely envelope him as it filters through his nose to be catalogued in his bairn, does he find the uniqueness that only Lance can provide.

It starts as a summertime breeze, the saltwater of the ocean, and the hint of a flowery fabric softener--that last one is fainter, and Keith realizes with a pained frown that the scent must be left over from his family’s house. It’s almost been a year since they left Earth. Keith can barely remember what a sunset looked like. Briefly, he wonders how much Lance misses his family.  If he has ever snuggled up in this jacket dreaming of home and of siblings and parents.

Maybe he should start paying more attention to smells. They’re interesting in their own way. Equally as fascinating and equally as calming.

Or is this feeling only attributed to the certain scent wafting from the fabric as he buries his face deeper into the coat?

Maybe that’s why he falls asleep, for once at peace.

“Are--are you wearing my jacket?” Lance inquires, peering into Keith’s eyes as they hide behind the shadow from the hood.

Keith is startled to find those familiar blue eyes so close to his face as he slowly wakes up, mind returning to the present and away from a dream he can’t quite remember. The dream had contained a certain shade of blue though, one eerily close to the color he stares at now.

A small yawn breaks apart his lips. Keith’s brain finally seems to gain control and he finally realizes that this is not the situation he wanted to find himself in. Suddenly the coat is too hot and too overbearing and his face twists into something unpleasant. “S-sorry, I didn’t--I didn’t mean to. I--” Keith begins to shimmy out of the jacket until a hand lands on his shoulder.

“Nah, it’s all good. I was just wondering where it went.” A breathtaking smile encompasses his whole face, his dark blue eyes twinkling.

 _Really, it’s okay,_ Lance’s eyes convey. Keith allows himself to breathe, anxiety level returning to normal and panic waning off his face.

“Well if you didn’t just carelessly leave it around, this wouldn’t have happened,” he retorts, regaining his courage, as well as the ability to communicate without stuttering. The hood has fallen away to reveal Keith’s slightly mussed hair and pink cheeks. Unconsciously, his fingers begin to run over the fabric again, rolling it between his fingers when the slack makes it possible.

It’s almost as calming as staring at Lance.

“I swear Allura or Coran turned up the temperature controls; it was like a sauna this morning.” Lance drags his hands across his arms; Keith watches the movements with a detailed eye, tracking the way his shirt bunches up at his elbows.  

Keith leans forward. “Are you cold now? I can give it back--”

“No, keep it for now. It looks good on yo--it looks like you’re having fun.” Lance cracks another grin, possibly trying to cover up what he had accidentally said. It doesn’t work though, and a soft smile is Lance’s reward as well as a deeper red coloring Keith’s cheeks.

“T-thanks, I guess.”

There’s a pause before Lance speaks again. Keith can practically see the cogs working through his eyes as he organizes his thoughts. “You know,” Lance speaks hesitantly at first, “if you ever need anything to help calm you down, just find me. I have a lot of trinkets from various planets that might interest you.”

“Really?” Keith lights up at the prospect until he begins to frown, his mind unfortunately working through every possibility. “Y--you’re not making fun of me, are you?”

Lance ardently shakes his head. “No, no. I have a cousin who’s like you. She had a necklace with these charms on it that she would fiddle with or chew on whenever she got to anxious around large crowds or even the family. Stim toys were always her favorite presents. I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you out here in space--out of your comfort zone.”

“You’ll laugh, but I miss my shack,” Keith replies honestly.

“Of course you would. But that thing’s a hunk-of-junk, and I mean that in the most loving way,” Lance teases.

“Of course,” Keith smiles back. It’s small and barely noticeable, but the smile is still there. One just has to search for it.

“I still can’t believe you stole my jacket. Didn’t your dad teach you that stealing was bad?” Lance leans against Keith now, head falling onto his shoulder as he kicks his legs up onto the couch to relax.

Keith shrugs, the smile growing larger and larger. “Finders keepers.”

Lance whines but doesn’t comment any further, having nothing to contribute after that found logic. He stays close though, and for that, Keith is grateful.

They sit together in silence, Keith returning to his previous action of snuggling into Lance’s jacket, inhaling the musky scent and allowing the soft lining to rub against his cheek. In turn, Lance watches him with a curious and amused expression. Keith’s eyes flutter closed before popping open to find Lance’s hand brushing back his bangs, looping the longer locks behind his ears though they won’t stay there for very long. Eyes wide and truthful, Lance says,

“Never be anything but yourself, Keith. You’re perfect.”  

A split second of hesitation flashes across Keith's eyes, until he grabs ahold of Lance’s shirt dragging him closer. There’s a small, unexpected ‘eep’ from Lance as he has to brace himself on the armrest of the couch to prevent himself from losing balance and falling completely onto Keith. He releases a chuckle. When their lips are inches apart and Keith’s eyes drift closed in the ecstasy of just being this close to him, Lance is the one who closes the gap.

His lips are equally as soft as his hands that tangle themselves in his hair and the jacket that’s wrapped around his body. They’re slightly chapped though, a perfect imperfection, and Keith smiles against Lance’s skin, threading his fingers through his silky brown hair. He traces every aspect of Lance’s face: his thin eyebrows, the sharp slope of his nose, the splash of freckles across his high cheekbones. Lance has captured him, with his words and lips and his entire being.

It’s something Keith will never be able to get enough of. Lance becomes his new favorite texture.

(and in the end, he never gives Lance’s jacket back)

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and kudos:)


End file.
